


Keep Your Head

by Dusty



Series: Conversations In The Car [21]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Light-Hearted, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is compromised following a Martini incident. Olivia takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Head

3am. There was the most enormous crash, and this time she was sure someone was trying to kill her. She sprang out of bed in her red silk pyjamas, grabbed her loaded walther and ran to the top of the stairs.  A figure was lying in a heap, the front door ajar. He’d tripped over her umbrella stand, which was an impressive achievement given it was tucked away behind the door. The same figure groaned.

She blinked, pointing her weapon at the disorientated lump. Then the lump peered up at her. It was James. He was swaying, his eyes bloodshot. 

“Oopsy,” he said.

Olivia lowered her weapon.

“James,” she whispered. “Are you drunk?”

“It wasn’t me,” he said. “The door attacked me.” He giggled.

She sighed a pained sigh and padded down the stairs towards him. “Night off?” she said with a distinct tone of disapproval.

“No! I’m on, I’m on, I’m on!” he declared. He proceeded to crawl into the living room on all fours. “Reporting for duty, ma’am!” He curled up into the foetal position.

“Oh for goodness’s sake,” said Olivia sharply. “James, get up.”

He rolled over on his back and grinned up at her. “Fuck me!” he said happily.

“No,” she replied, stern. “I don’t think so, even if by some miracle you were declared fit for active duty.” She raised an eyebrow and he pouted.

“I’m always fit,” said James. He sat up and scowled. “Where did the bar go?”

“I presume you left it to come here.”

“Well that was a huge fucking mistake. The bar was more fun.”

He sniggered and capsized onto the floor. She cracked a smile, unable to resist the absurdity of the situation. “James,” she said gently. “I think you should probably drink some water and then go to bed. What do you think?”

“The night is young,” he announced, crawling towards her collection of liquor.

“No…” she warned, dashing after him and smacking his hand as he reached for the bourbon.

“Ow! You always were a total bitch,” he grumbled petulantly, rubbing his hand. “Complete and utter heartless bitch.”

She put her hand on her hips. “James,” she said dangerously. “You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying. It doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you.”

He stuck his lower lip out dramatically. “I rest my case. Always so strict.” He was still on all fours. He made his way closer to her until he was kneeling at her feet. “I want you,” he said, making eyes at her whilst unable to see straight.

She smirked, glaring down at him. “Well you should have thought of that before you went out and got shitfaced.”

“You should have thought of that before you… let me go out and get shitfaced,” he slurred.

She clucked her tongue. “You’re blaming me because you’ve had too many martinis?”

“I have a very important job!” he said, sitting on his feet. “I have to drink a lot sometimes.” He promptly fell sideways into a heap again. “Nice carpet,” he added.

She chuckled. “James,” she said patiently. “You can sleep here if you want, or you can be a good boy and go upstairs and get ready for bed. I will get you a glass of water because I’m a good person and I don’t want you to suffer tomorrow. Much.”

He pouted again, noticing her bare feet. He wriggled over on his belly and kissed them. She doubled up with a dry laugh.

“Beautiful feet,” he said dramatically. “Bet you always wanted me to kiss them. Sexy boss…”

“Now stop it,” she said, regaining composure. “Come on, up you get.”

He managed to get back onto his knees again, then frowned.

“What is it now?” asked Olivia, becoming frustrated.

James put his hand in his crotch and held himself. She scowled. “Stop that,” she said. “It isn’t likely to operate tonight. You’ve drowned it.”

“Pee,” he said simply. He staggered to his feet and floundered out of the room, taking to the stairs, leaving Olivia shaking her head. Bloody drunken idiot. The perils of sleeping with a younger man. She padded through to the kitchen and poured a glass of water for him, then made her way upstairs.

He was still in the bathroom. She was sitting on the bed waiting for some time. “James,” she called out. “Have you fallen asleep in there?”

No answer. She rolled her eyes and pushed the door, which he’d failed to lock. And there he was, asleep in the bath.

“Oh James,” she said, walking up to him. “That won’t do. You need to get into bed.”

He opened his eyes and groaned. “I like it here,” he said, shifting slightly.

She frowned. The front of his jeans was wet.

“What happened?” She said, nodding her head at the soaked denim.

“I missed,” he groaned, holding his hands in front of his crotch and closing his eyes, as if that would make her disappear.

“You missed?”

“Don’t be angry,” he mumbled, half asleep.

“You’ve wet yourself,” deduced Olivia with vehement disapproval.

“It was an accident.” 

“James!”

He made a whimpering noise and curled up. Then he started snoring.

“Right. Well. You’ve made your bed, haven’t you,” she said tartly. She went into the bedroom and retrieved a pillow. Still deeply unimpressed, she carefully propped it under his head. He was now fast asleep.

“Goodnight, James,” she said with a smile. “Sleep well.”

\---

 

The sound of the phone ringing woke her up. It was 7.15am. She answered before she could think straight.

“Good morning, Dame Olivia,” said a familiar voice.

It dawned on her. “M,” she said. “What an unexpected surprise.”

“Quite,” said Mallory. “And not the only surprise. I know James Bond is in your house.”

Her heart lurched. She gritted her teeth. It would do no good to lie. “Yes he’s asleep in my bath tub. He turned up late last night completely inebriated and I took pity on him.”

“You didn’t think to report it?” asked Mallory.

She paused for a brief yet noticeable second. “I assumed he was off duty.”

“Well he isn’t,” came Mallory’s clipped tone. “He’s very much supposed to be here now.”

Olivia’s mouth fell open. “But if he was on duty what the hell was he doing?”

“His job, ma’am. Last night he was meeting an informant. We had another pair of eyes there and she says she thinks James’ drink was spiked, which may explain his condition. Bloody idiot let his guard down. It was a _female_ informant he was meeting.”

Olivia sighed. So he’d been too busy flirting to notice he was under attack.

“After their conversation, during which I can only hope James was well trained enough not to spill our nation’s secrets liberally, he stumbled out of the bar and into a cab. Our woman followed him in a taxi.”

She froze. He’d been followed.

Mallory continued, unmistakably self-satisfied. “For some reason,” he paused for effect. “OO7 went straight to your house. My agent saw him go inside. Naturally, she was concerned.”

“I see,” said Olivia. “Well he clearly didn’t know what he was doing, and frankly I still don’t think he’s in any fit state…”

“Can’t be helped,” interrupted Mallory, clearing his throat. “I'll write him off as out of action for now. You should probably make sure he doesn’t need medical attention. Tell him to come in as soon as he feels able. But tomorrow at the latest.”

She frowned. This was most irregular.

“And in future, ma’am,” he added. “If one of my operatives should show up at your house the worse for wear, for any reason, I’d appreciate a call.”

“I was going to call this morning,” she lied steadily.

He ignored her. “I only have your best interests at heart, Olivia, given your track record with young male agents.”

She wanted to speak but couldn’t. Her throat dried up as her mind came to a halt.

His even tone continued. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to come in for a chat at a mutually convenient time. I think we need to have a conversation, don’t you?”

“I’ll be in touch,” she said sharply. "Goodbye, M." She hung up.

In something of a trance, she walked through to the bathroom. James was still snoring, apparently unharmed but for being a complete mess. She needed him to be awake now. She went downstairs to the kitchen to prepare a hangover cure.

\---

She returned with a restorative drink and approached him gently.

“James,” she said softly, ignoring the stench of booze. She patted his shoulder. “ _James._ ”

He stirred, severely groggy.

She sighed. “I think you need a bath. Or a shower. Or both. Here’s some Alka-Seltzer.”

She popped the glass down on the ledge of the bathtub. He peered at her, quite unsure what was going on.

“Just to fill you in, James,” she said with deceptive sweetness. “You’re in this state because you screwed up last night, allowing someone to spike your drink to elicit information from you. You’re in hellish trouble with Mallory. And you wet your pants.”

He looked down in horror and flushed scarlet, drawing his knees up to conceal the evidence. She’d never seen anything like the embarrassment on him. Naturally, she gave him a smirk of pure, concentrated smugness.

“Your debriefing has been rescheduled for tomorrow so you do have the luxury of recovery before Mallory tortures you.”

He groaned as his head throbbed, resting it against the cold tile. He looked up at her pitiably.

She folded her arms, still enjoying the upper hand. “You’re lucky to get away with it. If I was still M…” She completed her sentence with a look of deadly promise.

James squirmed. “I don’t remember much,” he croaked.

She softened. She put a cool hand on his burning forehead. “How do you feel?” she asked gently.

“Awful,” he replied.

“Hungover?”

“Well of course!” he growled impatiently.

“I just mean do you feel anything other than hungover? Need to make sure you weren’t poisoned.”

He frowned at her. “Well if I had been, I’d be dead by now, no thanks to you.”

She felt a pang of guilt as she realised he was right. She’d just assumed he was foolishly drunk. If he had been drugged, he might be a dead body in her bathtub. She crouched down and stroked his face tenderly.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“I could have been dying, or date raped, and you were treating me like a fucked up student.”

“Oh poor baby,” she crooned as she petted him. “Not much use to you now, am I? I’ve lost my vigilance.”

He looked like he wanted to berate her further, but simply did not have the energy. Instead, he moved his head in towards her soothing hand with a soft moan.

“Just leave me here,” he whispered throatily. “Leave me here to die. It’s honestly fine.”

She giggled, brushing his hair off his forehead. With a sigh, she picked up the Alka-Seltzer. “Drink this. Now.”

He complied, his hands trembling, drinking it down with the grace of a sleepy two year old.

She chuckled silently. He was actually quite adorable. He caught her smiling at him as he drained the glass and tried to glare until it became too much of an effort.

“Good boy,” she said, taking the glass from him. She stood, bent over and kissed his head. “Go back to sleep if you want. I would quite like a shower myself at some point, however.”

He groaned again, folding his arms across his chest and curling up once more. “Just a bit longer,” he murmured.

She smiled fondly and left him in the bathroom, opting to go back to bed herself for a couple of hours.

\---

When she opened her eyes, she could hear the shower running and the sunlight was warmer in the room. Her stomach rumbled. She wrapped a dressing gown around her and padded downstairs to make coffee and toast a bagel.

By the time James came downstairs, she was feeling more human herself, sitting comfortably on the sofa with her mug.

He pattered barefoot into the room in clean jeans and a t-shirt, not quite able to meet her eyes.

“Coffee?” she offered.

“No,” he replied, rubbing his eyes.

She sighed. “Oh come here,” she said, putting her drink down and holding her arms open.

He crawled onto the sofa and curled up with his head in her lap. He smelled sweetly of soap, his hair freshly shampooed.

“Poor thing,” she whispered to him.

“Am I in trouble?” he uttered.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better,” she said smoothly, stroking his hair.

“S’not my fault the bitch spiked my drink,” James grumbled. “Could have happened to anyone.”

“So you weren’t distracted by her startling beauty, then?” asked Olivia haughtily.

“Impressed. Never distracted,” he replied. “Her breasts were a work of art. I suspected they may have been a diversion.”

“Well they were, weren’t they,” chided Olivia gently. “You never did treat women with the same suspicion as men. Still a weakness of yours.”

He made a grumbling noise and tried to get into a smaller ball, nevertheless cuddling up to her all the more. She snickered and patted his denim-clad bottom. She stroked his hair as she spoke sternly. “It’s foolish of you not to vet women in the same way because you assume you have the upper hand. You should know better than that by now. Surely I’ve beaten it out of you.” Her eyes twinkled. 

He looked up at her quite defeated. “Must try harder,” he said sheepishly, his toes curling.

If it was a deliberate attempt at getting around her, it worked. She gave in and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his crown. “Naughty boy,” she murmured.

He turned over in her lap so he was facing towards her and pressed his face in her bosom. “Sorry,” he said sweetly.  She held him as he fell into a restorative snooze, determined to protect him from the full facts of the night before until he was feeling stronger. The fact that he'd unwittingly revealed to MI6 that home, is indeed, where the heart is. 

 


End file.
